


Anchors in a Storm

by trespresh



Series: I'm Half-Doomed, You're Semi-Sweet [8]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Explicit Sexual Content, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Thunderstorms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-05-04 17:36:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5342615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trespresh/pseuds/trespresh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s something about thunderstorms that gets to Barry. He’d explained it to Len once through gritted teeth; something about the clashing electrons in the atmosphere and the explosive energy in the cracks of lightning has Barry’s fingers twitching, his skin crawling like the lightning in his veins is screaming to get out, hypersensitive down to the last nerve.</p><p>(In which Barry's turned on by thunderstorms. Len helps.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anchors in a Storm

**Author's Note:**

> THE BIGGEST THANK YOU to MissSugarPlum for reading this over and helping me and for just being the most darling human being. Go read her work and follow her on tumblr, she's a gem.
> 
> Characters are sadly not mine. Title belongs to Panic! At The Disco.

There’s something about thunderstorms that gets to Barry. He’d explained it to Len once through gritted teeth; something about the clashing electrons in the atmosphere and the explosive energy in the cracks of lightning has Barry’s fingers twitching, his skin crawling like his body is on fire, like the lightning in his veins is screaming to get out. His skin burns with the rushing blood so close to the surface, hypersensitive down to the last nerve.

It scares Len, the first time.

+

Len likes storms; there’s something about the wildness of them that he’s always found oddly calming—the hard crash of the rain against windows, the unpredictable claps of thunder. Which is why he’s confused when he wakes up in the middle of the night to a harsh burst of thunder, the room momentarily lit with the flash of lightning, to see Barry next to him, the sheets thrown off him and his skin just barely shining with sweat.

“Barry?” He mumbles softly, only just audible over the rain on the windowpane, but Barry whimpers and looks over.

His eyes are wide, frantic, a weird sickly yellow from the near-constant lightning that flickers there. Len sits up in alarm.

“Barry, hey—what? What’s wrong?”

But then Barry arches up a little against the bed, his eyes flickering closed. A look flashes across his face that Len might think was pain if he didn’t know Barry as well as he does, and then, a half-second later—

The room lights up from a burst of lightning, followed immediately by thunder.

“It’s…the storm?” Len asks, and feels a mild shock of electricity when he grasps Barry’s wrist. Barry’s skin is burning, even more so than that normal speedster heat, his pulse thrumming under Len’s fingers.

Barry licks his lip and when he speaks, he’s breathless. “I can… can feel the lightning. Too much electricity in the air. The—the energy, it messes with my powers, I—”

He cuts himself off with a low whine, twitching in the moment before another peal of lightning.

“What can I do?” Len asks in a low voice, hating the helpless feeling of watching Barry in pain. Or—

Is it pain?

The hand that isn’t clenched in the sheets is skittering distractedly over his own skin—up his own arm, across his chest, down his stomach—like he doesn’t realize he’s doing it. His eyes are screwed shut but then they fly open as he inhales sharply and arches again (flare of lightning, _crash_ of thunder) and Len’s hand traces shakily over Barry’s damp skin (he doesn’t know what to _do,_ how to help, Barry _scares_ him like this) and Barry eases back against the bed again, humming low in his throat.

“Barry, talk to me,” he demands, voice low and level like Barry’s a frightened animal, and Barry looks at him helplessly. Len’s fingers lose some of their shake and he traces circles into Barry’s shoulder with his thumb.

“It’s—I don’t know what it is,” he says unevenly. “It’s like. The electricity—it’s too much. I already have an overload in my body because of my—”

He spasms under Len’s touch and Len uses the split-second warning before the sound of the thunder to press his palm flat to Barry’s chest (his heartbeat is one steady thrum, beating a thousand times faster than any human’s should, _Christ_ ), and he clamps his free hand around Barry’s wrist and holds tight.

“Are you in pain?” He’s amazed by how calm his own voice sounds, considering.

Barry shakes his head restlessly. “No—no, it’s just. Storms have too much energy, and I can _feel_ it, it’s too much—feels too—” He waves a hand vaguely.

“Your senses are overstimulated,” Len concludes, and Barry heaves a breath and vibrates under Len’s touch. “Does this always happen during thunderstorms?”

“Yeah. Yes,” Barry stammers, arching to announce the next bolt of lightning. He heaves a breath and continues, “And every lightning strike—”

“Introduces a fresh batch of electricity,” Len nods, “that you internalize faster than the speed of light and sound.”

Barry whimpers.

“What do you normally do?” Len asks, still trying to hide the hint of panic buried in his chest. “During storms, how do you deal with it?”

The lightning in Barry’s eyes flashes at him; it’s alarming, really. Len’s never seen it up close.

“Tried—tried running around the block a couple hundred times, once. To get rid of the energy, y’know? Bad idea—electricity feels stronger outside,” Barry sighs shakily, and Len pointedly ignores the way his skin twitches less under Len’s fingers. Barry’s hand grasps at his own chest, up into his hair to tug lightly, across Len’s wrist and down. “So. Too much energy, too much sensitivity. I can normally deal with it—” He presses the heel of his palm between his legs, and— oh.

Len wonders how he hadn’t noticed Barry hard in his boxers before; too focused on the situation at hand, he supposes. _This_ , though. This he can help with.

“And that helps?” Len asks, but he’s already up on his knees, shuffling down the bed. He doesn’t take his hands off Barry’s skin, vibrating in a way that would be pleasant under any other circumstance, and Barry hums gratefully before twitching hard and groaning again.

(Lightning. Thunder. Like clockwork.)

“Easy, Bar. I’ve got you.”

When he gets his mouth around Barry, the kid arches in a completely different way. Long legs fall over Len’s shoulders, ankles twisting and heels digging into the middle of his back, and overheated hands fall to the back of his neck. Len reaches up, rests a forearm across Barry’s lower stomach, feels the restrained way Barry’s hips jerk up minutely, and he clutches at the back of Barry’s thigh.

 _Come on_ , he thinks, _don’t hold back_ , and he hums around Barry’s cock so Barry gets the picture pretty quick after that.

Barry fucks up into his mouth like a dam has broken and he can’t hold himself back anymore, and Len just drops his jaw and tries to hold on. Barry throws his head back hard against the pillows, shapeless gasps and heart-stopping little moans falling from his lips like curses when Len’s tongue circles the head. Len gets a hand up to cup his balls, sneak a finger behind to press lightly against that tight ring of muscle, and he’s not expecting the tiny static shock that his finger jolts into Barry’s skin but it makes Barry _sob_.

It doesn’t last long after that; Barry arches up sharply and comes in the split-second before the room illuminates with lightning.

Len’s unbearably hard in his own boxers—the noises Barry makes might actually kill him one of these days—but he waits, pulls off and studies Barry’s face. His eyes are closed and he actually looks peaceful for a moment before Len realizes—Barry’s still hard.

The rain is still coming down in sheets against the window, the air still crackling as thunder rattles the walls. The storm isn’t over.

Len splays one hand over Barry’s stomach, the other tight around his hip. “Still?”

Barry nods weakly and really, it’s not like Len’s complaining.

He pulls back so Barry’s legs fall from his shoulders, but then shuffles up so he’s nestled between them.

“Len, please, please. I need—” Barry’s babbling and incoherent and Len almost feels bad for being so turned on by this. How can he be blamed, though, when the kid is sprawled out under him and begging to come again?

“What do you need, Barry?”

“Please just—” Barry’s head tosses to the side before his eyes crack open to fix this _look_ on Len, hooded and needy like all he can see is Len. “Please just touch me.”

He doesn’t waste time. The last thing Barry needs is something slow, torturous, and Len has no desire to draw out his discomfort longer than necessary. One hand trails in mindless shapes over Barry’s stomach, and with the other, he reaches into the bedside table drawer, rifling around impatiently until he finds the small tube of lube; he coats his fingers before shifting to get one into Barry.

There’s that small static shock again and the kid keens, and already Len can feel the way his vibrations weaken. He stretches Barry quickly mostly because he doesn’t know how much more of Barry’s moans and whines he can handle, and hitches one of Barry’s legs up over his hip before pushing in in one swift motion.

Normally when he’s inside Barry, sure, he’s all speedster heat and skillful vibrations in the way he knows drives Len crazy. But this is something completely different, something more animal and uncontrollable and desperate; Barry is so hot around him, so tight Len can’t breathe. He shakes hard everywhere Len can feel—against Len’s fingers, tight around him, under his lips when Len leans down to press a kiss into Barry’s damp collarbone as he starts moving his hips.

If he thought Barry was over-sensitized before, it’s nothing compared to this. Lightning flashes through the room and Barry’s groan mixes with the thunder, and Len’s positive he can feel traces of that electricity thrum through his own veins—not enough to hurt, but enough to make his hips stutter in shock before his pace quickens. Barry’s a livewire, his hands clasped around Len’s forearms, running down his chest, curling around to rest on his ass so he can feel the way Len thrusts into him. Barry’s hips lift to meet Len’s, and it’s hard and desperate with the way their hands grasp at one another, fumbling and needy and just this side of too much.

Barry’s fingers scrape up his back so hard it almost hurts, his blunt nails digging in, but it only makes Len pin him to the mattress harder. Len leans forward so their chests slide together, Barry’s cock trapped between them, and their kiss is messy and punctuated with Barry’s moans. He can feel that sweet orgasmic edge creeping up on him fast, so he gets a hand between them to wrap around Barry and jerk him sloppily until Barry gasps in his ear.

“Please, please,” he mumbles weakly, lightning blazing and thunder cracking outside.

“Come, Barry.”

And he does. He shakes so violently Len fears he might break something, and Len can’t help but tumble over the edge after him.

Len’s forehead rests in the hollow of Barry shoulder, Barry breathing heavily in his ear, and somehow, _somehow_ , Barry’s still hard in his hand. He squeezes experimentally and Barry’s whine is pathetic.

“Too much. Please.” Is he begging Len to stop or to keep going?

Len pulls out and settles back onto his stomach so Barry’s legs fall over his shoulders again. The rain is barely coming down now and thunder rumbles weakly outside. He wonders if he can wring one more orgasm from Barry, and is pleased when he strokes him once and Barry twitches in his hands, his eyes still lidded but considerably clearer.

Len holds his gaze as he slips two fingers back into Barry and sucks him into his mouth.

Barry alternates between jerking up into that tight heat, and sinking back into the mattress like the feel of Len’s fingers and tongue is too much for him to handle. His hand trails up again to card over Len’s buzzed head and he’s surprised when Len lets him, lets Barry guide his head up and down. It’s not often that Len lets Barry use him how he wants, but he’s happy to make exceptions once in a while.

The rain falls in a light pattern on the window, the rumbles of thunder few and far between now, and Len can feel Barry’s energy draining under his touch. He redoubles his efforts, tongue swirling swiftly, fingers crooking inside Barry expertly, and it’s with an exhausted gasp a few minutes later that Barry stills and comes down his throat.

They lay in tired silence for a while after that, and Len thinks Barry’s about to fall asleep when he speaks up.

“Thank you,” he says, and Len’s happy to hear his voice calm and quiet rather than frantic and wracked with discomfort.

Len cracks an eye open. He kneads circles into Barry’s wrist, the other hand resting lightly across Barry’s chest. “You don’t have to thank me,” he says with a small smirk. “Seriously.”

Barry opens his eyes too; there’s no more lightning there, only sleepy hazel. He chuckles. “Yeah, I bet. Really though.”

Len tilts his head so he can really look at him. “I’ll do what I can to take care of you, Barry.”

It sounds a little like teasing but the intense focus in Len’s eyes, the way he picked the words carefully—none of that’s lost on Barry.

He leaves it alone though, instead switching the subject. “My powers give me a shortened refractory period.”

“What?”

“’S why I can orgasm so many times.”

Len hums around a smile. “I like your powers.”

Honestly. He already can’t wait for the next time a thunderstorm hits Central City.

Barry chuckles. “Don’t let your Rogues hear you say that.”

Len freezes. _His Rogues_.

He might not have to wait too long for that next thunderstorm, after all.

+

“’Course I can create storms,” Mark Mardon says. “The hell you want one for?”

Len rolls his eyes and draws back his shoulders, stands a little taller. He pulls a small roll of bills from the pocket of the parka and tosses it at Mardon. “Any more questions?”

Mardon unrolls the bills and flips through them quickly. He stares up at Len. “Coming right up.”

+

When he walks into his apartment later that afternoon, Barry is dozing on the sofa and the sky is dark. He stirs when Len closes the door behind himself.

“Hey,” he says, rubbing at his eyes, but a distant rumble of thunder has him frozen. He stares out the window in surprise. “Oh, god, “ he mutters. “It wasn’t even supposed to rain today.”

Len hums cheerily. “Yeah. Bummer, huh?”

Barry whips around to glare at him. “What did you do?”

Len should be concerned that Barry seems to know him so well, but. Things are about to get fun and he can’t be bothered to worry about that now. He doesn’t even try to hide his grin. “Me? I can’t control the weather, Barry.”

Barry’s eyes narrow. “You’re the worst.”

But he grabs Len’s wrist and drags him to the bedroom anyway.


End file.
